


Elementary Cursebreaking: Lab

by amairylle



Series: Kozume Kenma Deserves A Raise [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Angst and Humor, Blood, Curse Breaking, Curses, Don't worry Hinata's fine, Drowning, M/M, Magical Realism, Someone give Kenma a raise, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 07:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13806027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amairylle/pseuds/amairylle
Summary: A customer walks over and blocks Kenma’s light. “Excuse me.”Kenma tilts his head the bare minimum to look up at the customer. He’s pale, maybe a bit younger than Kenma and maybe a bit shorter as well, with bright orange hair. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and his knuckles are white where he grips his right arm, blood seeping through his shirt. “I need to break a curse.”Kenma follows the line of the customer’s arm down to the drop of blood on his fingertip, which spatters on the floor. “Aisle five."Content Warning: Blood, near-drowning.





	Elementary Cursebreaking: Lab

**Author's Note:**

  * For [villager_bxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/villager_bxx/gifts).



> Written for the [Haikyuu secret santa](https://haikyuusecretsanta.tumblr.com/) for [aiicheerios.](https://aiicheerios.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Inspired by [this tumblr post.](http://werewolfbehavior.tumblr.com/post/153713254076/me-walking-into-a-cvs-at-midnight-i-need-to-lift)

Kenma’s inventory gun is missing.

Oh, sure, technically it’s CVS’s inventory gun and there are four total, all identically black and scuffed and faintly sticky. One of them is different: it’s Kenma’s. He wouldn’t use someone else’s inventory gun like he wouldn’t use someone else’s phone or someone else’s car, but inventory has to happen and his supervisor Jeff won’t do it. Kenma takes a gun—not his—and does his best to update the settings to something tolerable. He can’t fix the fact that it refuses to scan every third item.

He gets four full aisles done before his thighs start to ache. Inventory is the _absolute worst_ time of year. Kenma has to crouch and stretch up and down all the aisles until he can’t feel the lower half of his body because ‘the night shift can do it’ and ‘there’s no need to put more people on the schedule.’ And Kenma’s gun is missing and there’s nothing less dignified than failing to scan a pack of adult diapers.

Someone walks over and blocks Kenma’s light. “Excuse me.”

Actually, there’s nothing less dignified than someone _watching_ you fail to scan a pack of adult diapers. Kenma tilts his head the bare minimum to look up at the customer. He’s pale, maybe a bit younger than Kenma and maybe a bit shorter as well, with bright orange hair. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and his knuckles are white where he grips his right arm, blood seeping through his shirt. “I need to break a curse.”

Kenma follows the line of the customer’s arm down to the drop of blood on his fingertip, which spatters on the floor. “Aisle five.” He picks up the pack of adult diapers again, and, mercifully, it scans.

“Thank you.” The customer’s footsteps recede, and Kenma moves on to pantyliners. He makes it through those and stands up to do the next shelf, wincing as the feeling comes back into his legs. The customer comes back, his hands now full. “There’s no one at the register,” he says.

What? Jeff is on the register. Jeff had _better_ be on the register. Kenma stalks to the end of the aisle, and the registers are empty. He grumbles and wrinkles his nose. “I can ring you up.”

“Thank you so much!” the customer chirps with energy that doesn’t match the tight lines in the corners of his eyes. He follows Kenma to the register and scatters his armful of bottles onto the register. Kenma scoops up a bottle of lavender lotion just before it falls onto the floor. He nods.

Kenma keys his code into the register and starts scanning. Three bottles later, he realizes that this idiot only grabbed lavender lotion. Eight bottles of lavender lotion. No salt, no turquoise. Lavender isn’t even that well-suited to curse-breaking. He’s going to die.

“So,” the idiot says, “I’ve never actually broken a curse before.”

“I see that,” Kenma says, bagging the fifth bottle of lavender lotion with a bit of extra force.

“Yeah…” He laughs, and it falls flat like the lotion onto the counter. “Have you ever broken a curse before?”

Kenma freezes mid-scan and looks up at the customer, bracing himself to run away. “I have…”

“Ooh, cool!” The customer’s eyes light up, and he leans onto the register, leaving a bloody handprint on the counter. “Can you help me with mine?” Kenma opens his mouth to decline. “Here, let me show you.” The customer shoves his sleeve up, wincing all the way. A long series of illegible symbols is etched into his arm, radiating out from under his shirt. They’re faintly blurry, making the kid’s whole arm slightly out of focus. Kenma winces in sympathy and looks away before something undoubtedly Eldritch jumps onto him too.

This idiot’s actually going to die without help. Kenma deflates. “I can’t really leave in the middle of my shift…” he says. “Can you wait?”

“Oh, absolutely, sure.” The customer leans back, notices his own bloody handprint on the counter, and scowls. “What time do you get off?” He picks up the hem of his shirt and scrubs at it, making a larger mess.

“Six.” Kenma glances at the clock on the register. It’s two thirty. He sighs. Three and a half hours is a long time to wait when you’re bleeding and in pain. It’s also a long time to spend tracking blood all over floors that it’s Kenma’s job to mop.

The customer’s face falls, but he doesn’t completely lose the smile. “I’ll go get some ibuprofen for while I wait.” He turns away from the register, lets out a choked gasp, and pitches forward, clutching his arm. Kenma drops the lotion, bolts around the counter, and catches him just before he hits the floor. He’s gone white all over again, and his skin is faintly clammy and Kenma is touching him. Kenma tenses every muscle. The kid lets his sweaty head drop onto Kenma’s shoulder and his hair is wet against Kenma’s neck. Kenma’s skin crawls. It takes every ounce of his self-control not to drop him. “Maybe,” the kid gasps, “you could help me with it now? I think I’m your only customer.”

Kenma pushes him back, shifting him to lean against the register. There’s a new line of blurry glyphs peeking out from under the kid’s hand. “How far apart are those?” he demands.

“Dunno.” He looks down at his arm. “A quarter inch? Maybe half?”

Kenma rolls his eyes. “How often do you get new ones?”

“Every ten minutes or so?” He rolls his sleeve back down. He’s finally lost the smile. “I’ll be fine, just gimme a second.”

Yeah, he’s definitely going to die without Kenma’s help. Kenma allows himself a half-second to stare up at the ceiling and die a little inside. Then, he pushes himself upright. “Wait here,” he says. “Don’t move.”

Eight bottles of lavender-scented lotion isn’t going to break this kid’s curse. Kenma’s not actually sure what will break it, but he knows he’s going to need better options. He grabs a basket from the front of the store and goes up and down the aisles, doubling back every time he has to amend his mental list. A pocket makeup mirror, peppermint (candy and lotion), citrus essential oil, candles and a lighter, ginseng tablets, licorice, salt (table and epsom), chamomile tea. A six-pack of Gatorade and some granola bars so the kid doesn’t pass out. That stupid incense they’re carrying now might have sandalwood in it, and that’s usable. So is the novelty turquoise jewelry by the seasonal stuff. Everything else should be in the kit in Tora’s car.

Of course, collecting all the supplies doesn’t fix the fact that Kenma can’t just walk out on his shift. He sets the basket down by the pharmacy counter and pushes his way through the door to the back. If Jeff is even still in the store, he’ll be in the break room, and if he’s not, Kenma will have bigger problems, but the break room light is on and why the _fuck_ does it reek of pot back here?

Kenma crosses his arms and lets his resting bitch face do the rest. “Jeff.”

Jeff has the decency to paste a sheepish grin on his face. “Kenma,” he replies, through his cloud of smoke.

“I need to leave,” Kenma says, attempting to wave the smoke out of his face.

“No, don’t.” Jeff stretches the vowels out as far as they’ll go. “Why would you do this to me?”

Kenma crosses his arms. “I’m sick.”

Jeff cocks an eyebrow. “You’re lying is what you are.” He blows a smoke ring in Kenma’s face.

Kenma coughs and pulls his shirt up over his nose. “I have to break a curse for a customer.”

“That’s dumb,” Jeff drawls. “Can’t it wait? I don’t want to do the inventory.”

Kenma narrows his eyes. “He’s dying and I don’t want to clean up a body,” he says. “Having police at the store is worse than doing inventory. Suck it up. Call in a replacement. Do your _job.”_

Jeff glares up at Kenma.

“I’ll call Liz.”

Jeff levers himself out of the chair. “Fine.” He puts out the blunt and rubs his bloodshot eyes. “Let me sober up.”

Kenma nods. “Leave me clocked in and I won’t tell Liz that you broke the smoke alarm and were smoking again.”

“Don’t tell Liz I was smoking and I won’t tell Liz you walked out on inventory for some hoo-hah.”

Kenma grits his teeth. “Don’t forget to air this place out.” He turns on his heel and leaves, slamming every door he goes through. Even three rooms away, it still smells like pot. Kenma groans. He shouldn’t have been in the smoke long enough for his clothes to stink, and yet. He grabs a bottle of Febreeze and, after a moment’s thought, grabs some chips and an iced tea. He deserves them.

When he rounds the magazine rack, the customer is still where Kenma left him: on the floor, curled in a pile of sweat and his own agony. There’s yet another row of symbols on the kid’s arm. Shit. He looks up when he hears Kenma, and his face lights up. “You came back!” He croaks, with a smile. “I thought you were going to leave me.”

Kenma steps behind the register and hefts the basket onto the counter. “You’re dying,” he says.

The kid whirls around with speed someone in that much pain _shouldn’t have,_ and stares at Kenma with wide, watery brown eyes. “I’m going to die?” his voice shakes.

He’s sure doing his best to. Kenma sighs. “Probably not.” He punches Jeff’s code into the register and cancels the previous transaction. “I’m good at curse-breaking.”

“So you are going to help me?” The kid practically glows at the prospect. How does he even have the energy to have emotions that quickly? He tries to stand up, but wobbles dramatically and plops back down, letting his head rest on the edge of the counter.

Kenma rolls his eyes, pops a Gatorade out of the package, and taps the kid’s head with it. “Drink,” he says.

The idiot takes a sip. “Blech,” he says. “Why’d you get yellow-green?”

“It’s the only acceptable flavor. Drink it.”

He sucks it down, making faces the whole way. Above him, Kenma scans item after item. With every beep of the register, the kid’s eyebrows furrow. He pushes himself onto his knees and peeks over the edge of the counter. “Hey uh—” he glances down at Kenma’s chest. “Kenma? Just warning you, I’m kinda broke.”

Kenma quirks a corner of his mouth. Judging from the kid’s face and idiocy, he’s got to be late high school or early college. Of course he has no money. “What’s your name?” Kenma asks.

“Shouyou,” he replies. He tilts his head. “Why?”

No one Kenma knows, and therefore not someone Kenma can get to pay him back. “I’ll give you the employee discount,” he says. That should do enough. Kenma’s sure not paying for someone else’s mistakes.

“Really?” Shouyou grins. “Thanks!” He plops back down and goes back to his Gatorade, and Kenma goes back to scanning. He finally gets to the Febreeze. He takes a deep breath, scrunches up his face, sprays himself all over, to Shouyou’s loud cackles. “What was that for?” Shouyou asks.

Kenma coughs and scans the bottle. “My supervisor smokes pot in the break room.” Kenma wrinkles his nose. “It smells.”

“So does Febreeze.”

“Febreze dissipates,” Kenma spits. “Finish your Gatorade.”

Shouyou holds up the empty bottle. “I did!” he says. “Is Gatorade magic?”

“No.” The corner of Kenma’s mouth almost quirks. “Dehydration isn’t magic either, but it doesn’t help things.”

Shouyou hums, nodding. He gestures at the bulging bags. “So what of this is magic?”

Kenma scans a bag of chips. “Almost everything.”

“Even the chips?” Shouyou raises an eyebrow.

Kenma pops open the bag and eats one. “Yes.” If feeding the witch qualifies as magic.

“Can I have one?” Shouyou reaches for it.

Kenma twitches his fingers, and he has a granola bar to put in Shouyou’s hand. “You need protein.”

Shouyou pouts. “Not fair.”

Kenma frowns. “You almost passed out.”

“From _pain._ Not low blood sugar.”

He huffs. “Just eat the granola bar.”

Shouyou unwraps it with as much force as he can manage. He stuffs it in his mouth. “I hate peanuts,” he says. Despite this, the bar is gone in three bites.

Kenma shrugs. “You’ve opened the box, so I can’t return it.” But when Kenma checks, the box is still sealed. Whoops. He scans the last thing, a bag of epsom salt, and double bags it. “Cash or credit?”

“Why do you need two kinds of salt?”

“Cash or credit?” Kenma repeats, his tone flat.

Shouyou pushes himself to his feet and pulls his wallet out. “Why do you need two kinds of salt?” He sticks his card in the reader.

“The table salt is for spells.” Kenma pushes buttons on the screen. “The epsom salt is because you’re going to be sore tomorrow. Cash back?”

Shouyou stares at Kenma—who immediately breaks eye contact—eyes wide. “Should I be worried?”

Kenma snickers softly and stuffs the receipt into a bag. “You have occult symbols carving themselves into your upper arm. You should have been worried a few hours ago.” He slides the bags onto one arm. “Can you walk by yourself?”

Shouyou takes an experimental step. “I think so.“

“Good.” With a nod, Kenma leads Shouyou out into the parking lot. Tora has been kind enough to let Kenma weasel him into lending out his car. It’s a sedan, and the outside was silver, once. Hopefully this endeavor won’t cause any lasting damage.

Shouyou leans against the back door, leaving a few bloody smears. “Do you not wash your car?”

Kenma shrugs. “Keeps it from getting stolen.” He’ll have to wash it after this, though. Tora draws the line at blood. Kenma pops the door open and lets the bags fall into the trunk next to the locked wooden crate that is his and Tora’s kit.

“Is that magic?” Shouyou asks, reaching for it.

Kenma slaps his hand away. “Yes,” he says, “don’t touch it.” He unlocks it and pops the lid open. The rows of bottles shimmer faintly with enchantment, and their reflections sparkle in Shouyou’s wide eyes.

“You have to tell me what all those do,” he says.

“I guess.” Kenma picks out a stout mason jar and pops the lid off. “Rub this on your arm.” He sorts his supplies. He needs the mirror and a tea light right now, but the ginseng and the peppermint lotion are for later. Snacks go in the back seat. Epsom salt goes where it won’t roll over and crush something.

Behind him, Shouyou lets out a shout. “UWAAAA!!!!! KENMA!!!!!”

Kenma jumps, hits his head on the hatchback, and ducks behind the car. Shouyou’s grin splits his entire face, and he bounces at least nine feet straight up. What the fuck.

“Kenma it feels so much better!!! Thank you!!!” He plops the jar back in the trunk without putting the lid back on. “It feels good as new! I knew you could do it!” He rubs the rest of the goop into the bloody crescents on his palm and flexes his fingers. Words spill out of his mouth faster than Kenma can keep up. “I don’t really know why you had me buy the rest of the stuff, but wow, this feels so good that I don’t mind doing your grocery shopping for you! You’re the best! Thank you so much, and I guess I’ll see you around!”  

Kenma blinks at Shouyou as the sentences catch up to him. Shouyou gives him a jaunty wave, turns on his heel, and heads towards the bike rack, whistling. He’s leaving? He’s leaving! Kenma jumps up and catches Shouyou with two fingers hooked into the neck of his shirt. Shouyou topples backwards into Kenma with a squeak, and Kenma steps back to let him drop onto the pavement.

“Ow….” Shouyou whines. “My butt…”

“That was a painkiller,” Kenma says.

Shouyou stares up at Kenma. “Huh?”

“It was a painkiller,” Kenma repeats, gesturing at Shouyou’s bloody arm. The symbols pulse. “You’re still cursed.”

Shouyou looks down at his bicep. “I’m still cursed,” he says, voice hollow.

Kenma nods.

“Ughhhhh.” Shouyou shoves himself back upright. “I thought you said you could fix it.” His face folds into a frown, but all it does is make him look like a disgruntled kitten.

Kenma pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t deserve this. “I _can,”_ he huffs. “I just _haven’t_ yet.”

“Ah.” Shouyou unfolds his face and brings his good hand up to the back of his neck. He’s smiling again but he doesn’t even try to meet Kenma’s eyes. “Sorry. What next?”

* * *

 

‘What next’ turns out to be Shouyou sitting in the front seat of Kenma’s car, carefully balancing the mirror on his lap as they drive west. There’s a ring of salt around the edge of the mirror and a lit tea light in the center, both held in place by superglue. Around the candle, there’s another ring of pepper and oregano, and Shouyou’s full name, in Kanji and in English. It’s weird, and Shouyou isn’t sure if it’s working, but the painkiller salve stuff Kenma gave him was incredible and his arm feels so much better, so he’s willing to give this some time.

Even a tea light takes _so_ long to burn, though. “How long until we know whether this works?” Shouyou asks.

Kenma’s face is all but hidden under his bad blonde dye job. “If the curse progresses again,” he says, “it didn’t work.” The only thing on his face that moves is his mouth. Shouyou can’t read him at all. Hopefully he’s not annoyed.

This is all so cool though. Well, the symbols carving themselves into Shouyou’s arm aren’t cool, but Kenma’s a witch! A real witch! He’s got a crate full of fancy magic supplies in the back of the car and his healing stuff is spectacular and he does real spells that really work! Probably. The jury’s still out on this one, but that doesn’t make it less cool. Stupidly slow, but still cool.

Kenma turns off the highway and takes them down into the North Valley. The streetlights are older here and paint the inside of the car a warm peach. Shouyou’s only been down here once, to help a friend move a couch out of his parent’s house. He can’t track the streets.

Why does he feel fuzzy again? He’s felt clear ever since he put the salve on his arm. Maybe he’s tired? It’s almost three in the morning.

Shouyou’s vision whites out for a second. He curls over the candle and whimpers as something sears itself into his bicep. Breathe in, breathe out. Wait for the pain to recede. He stares at the candle flame, which is close enough to singe his eyelashes and dances with each of his breaths. Breathe in, breathe out. Sit up. The car isn’t moving anymore.

There’s the faintest line between Kenma’s eyebrows. “It didn’t work,” he says, in that same flat tone. Shouyou whines again. There’s fresh blood leaking through his shirt. Kenma turns the hazards off and pulls away from the curb.

“Should I blow the candle out?” Shouyou manages, between heavy breaths.

Kenma shakes his head. “Leave it. Maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll still take effect in a couple hours, when the candle burns out.”

Shouyou nods. “I trust you.”

Kenma’s shoulders tense. He doesn’t reply.

They pull into an unlit parking lot surrounded by cottonwoods and brush. Kenma hops out to rummage in the trunk while Shouyou leans his head back into the headrest and breathes. In and out. The pain wasn’t as bad this time, and it’s not lasting as long, but the string of letters on his arm is longer than the last one. Shouyou sighs. At this rate, he’ll lose his arm by morning unless Kenma has something up his sleeve. But it’s ok, because Kenma has something up his sleeve. He said so. Shouyou steps out of the car, careful not to upset the candle or the mirror. “What should I do with this?” he asks.

“Just leave it on the floor where it won’t tip.” Kenma calls back. Shouyou sets the mirror down carefully, shuts the door, and goes over to watch Kenma sort jars and candles and rocks into a backpack. He hands Shouyou the jar of salve again. “Put it on the new ones.”

Shouyou does. Instantly, the throbbing cools and disappears. He lets out a soft hum as tension bleeds out of his shoulders and back. “Thanks,” he says.

Kenma nods. “Tell me everything about the curse.” He puts the jar in the backpack and hands Shouyou another granola bar.

“Um… It’s carving symbols into my arm? Letters and numbers?” Shouyou takes a bite and snickers. “I thought that was obvious.”

Kenma pauses in his sorting to look up at Shouyou and pointedly narrow his eyes. “Everything,” he repeats.

Shouyou shrinks under Kenma’s glare “Um…” What else is there to say? It’s just a string of letters and numbers he can’t read. “What do you want to know? Maybe that’ll help me.”

Kenma lets out a sigh and goes back to sorting. “Can you read the letters? Do you know where the curse came from or how it was worded? Who cursed you? How long ago?” His tone is dry and clipped.

Shouyou crosses his arms and pouts. “You don’t have to talk to me like I’m stupid.”

Something in Kenma’s face twitches. “Sorry,” he says, a hair softer than before.

“It’s okay.” Shouyou takes another bite of his granola bar and wracks his brain. The whole evening has been pretty fuzzy. “I don’t know who cursed me. It just kind of showed up a couple hours ago.” he looks down at his arm and runs a finger over one of the letters. “I can’t read what the letters say.” He lets out a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s not helpful at all, is it?”

With a shake of his head. Kenma plops his backpack on the ground next to an electric camping lantern, and slams the trunk. “The basics, then.” He pulls out a lighter and a bay leaf and hands them to Shouyou. “The leaf is your curse. Burn it.”

“Um?”

He pushes them at Shouyou, insistent. “As you burn the leaf, you burn the curse away,” he says. To Shouyou, it sounds like he’s quoting something.

Shouyou takes the leaf and the lighter, and sets the top of it on fire. The flames lick down the sides, towards his fingertips. He grimaces. “Can I set this down?” Kenma nods, and Shouyou places the leaf on the ground in front of him. They both stare it down as it smolders. Shouyou fidgets, worrying his lip, but Kenma crouches like a statue, not even blinking until the flame runs itself out. Once it’s nothing but ash, Kenma’s eyes flit up to the curse on Shouyou’s arm. The corners of his mouth drop down a degree.

“That’s unfortunate.” Kenma stands up and shrugs the backpack on. “Come on,” He says, motioning towards the forest.

Shouyou gets up and follows Kenma into the maze of cottonwoods. As soon as they cross the tree line, he gets goosebumps. Something about this place feels cold and sinister. Kenma’s lantern killed what little night vision he had; he can’t see anything more than shadows outside the circle of light. Some of them are too short to be trees, and too narrow to be brush. “Kenma?” His voice wavers far more than he’d like.

Kenma’s head is bowed, and he’s muttering to himself. Shouyou catches a phrase here and there. “Eldritch nonsense,” and “here of all states.”

“Kenma?” Shouyou repeats, tapping his shoulder. Kenma squeaks and drops the lantern. It sounds like a kitten, and Shouyou can’t help but laugh.

“Please don’t touch me,” Kenma says. He picks up the lantern and soldiers on, silent this time. They make a few turns, and when Shouyou looks back, he can’t see the way they came, let alone the car. “What is it?” Kenma asks.

Shouyou shivers. “Do you feel like something’s watching us?” As soon as he says it, the feeling gets worse, like there’s someone right behind him. He whirls around and there’s nothing.

“Don’t do that,” Kenma says. “Ignore it.”

“But—”

 _“Ignore it.”_ He grabs Shouyou’s sleeve and pulls him along, only letting it drop when Shouyou starts to move on his own without hesitation. They reach a path along a drainage ditch, and Kenma leads him towards the bridge. “There’s a lot of things out here,” Kenma says. “New Mexico’s like that. You’re lucky we’re still in the city, or it’d be worse.” He stops Shouyou on the bridge above the drainage ditch. “Don’t talk about it when we’re in the trees.”

“Why not?” Shouyou asks. He’s starting to feel fuzzy again.

“It’ll call attention to us. Calling attention to yourself is a good way to collect worse things than you’ve already got.” He grimaces as he tilts his head to indicate Shouyou’s arm.

As if on cue, Shouyou drops as pain wracks his body. He can’t see, even with Kenma’s lantern. When he refocuses, he’s clinging to the bridge, gasping, and Kenma is crouched next to him, holding out the salve. Shouyou takes a glob, and rubs it over the next row of symbols. They’ve covered his elbow now.

“Can you walk?” Kenma asks, shoving the jar back in his bag.

Shouyou pulls himself to his feet as the world tilts around him. Is the railing of the bridge moving? It feels like it. Staying standing is a near thing. “Give me a minute,” he says. “What do you mean, ‘there are a lot of things out here?’”

Kenma sits back on his heels and crosses his arms. “There just are. Animals, spirits, presences. The sky, the desert. Whatever cursed you. Lots of things.”

“Like, Native American things?” The reflection from Kenma’s lantern in the water below pitches and wavers, but the longer he waits, the more it looks like an effect of the current than the result of his dizziness.

Kenma snorts. “You’d better hope not.” He pulls a bottle of iced tea out of his backpack and takes a swig. “I don’t deal with any of their spirits.”

“Why not?”

“They’re not mine.” He passes Shouyou another Gatorade.

Shouyou grimaces. “I don’t want that.”

Kenma shoves it into his hand anyway. “You’re collapsing too often already. Don’t dehydrate.”

Shouyou twists the cap off and glares at Kenma. “Fine.” He takes a swig of the Gatorade and tries not to gag. It’s still disgusting. “Won’t the lantern attract attention?”

“Eh.” Kenma shrugs. “It’s better than walking in unannounced.”

Shouyou frowns. “But you just said—”

“It’s weird to explain,” Kenma interrupts. “They know we’re here. We know they’re there. But it’s bad if they know that we know that they know.” He shoves himself upright again. “Can you walk now?”

Shouyou’s frown deepens. “That’s not an explanation at all,” he whines.

“I said it was weird.” Kenma scoops up the lantern, shifting from foot to foot. “Can we just go?”

With a huff, Shouyou lets go of the bridge. His balance doesn’t fail him again. “What’s wrong with you?”

Kenma steps off the bridge and beckons for Shouyou. “We need to _go,_  Shouyou.”

Shouyou screws the lid back onto his Gatorade and follows Kenma. Something large passes behind him the second he steps off the bridge, close enough to feel feathers and fast enough for the wind to ruffle his hair. He shrieks and drops his Gatorade.

Kenma picks the Gatorade up and pushes it into Shouyou’s hand. “Listen to me when I tell you to move,” he scolds, as if Shouyou were a child. He turns away with a huff and stomps away from Shouyou, stopping at the tree line. “Come on.”

Shouyou gives him a shaky nod, his knuckles white around the Gatorade bottle, and follows him. As soon as they’re back in the trees, the hair stands up on the back of his neck all over again. This time, it’s like he can feel the eyes from all directions. He shivers. “Don’t look at them,” he whispers to himself. “Don’t look at them.”

Kenma shushes him. “That’s not better!” he hisses. “Just focus on me.”

“Sorry!” Shouyou glues his eyes to the back of Kenma’s neck. He steps where Kenma steps, thinks only about how annoying it is that Kenma’s gait is longer than his. Kenma’s backpack is flat black, with a couple of pins on it. One of them looks kind of like a logo, but the rest have these weird little drawings on them. Shouyou lets his eyes wander a bit, down Kenma’s shoulders. Is Kenma an athlete? He’s kind of built like one. His grip on the lantern is relaxed. There’s another of the little drawings carved into the plastic of the lantern.

Kenma stops, and Shouyou walks into him. “Don’t move for a second,” he whispers, and switches off the lantern. The darkness is absolute, and Shouyou whimpers. “Shh.” He reaches back and gives Shouyou’s leg a hesitant pat. “It’s ok. Try to be quiet.”

Shouyou sucks a breath in and freezes. He can’t feel whatever it was Kenma noticed, and that’s almost worse than if he could. His heart pounds in his ears, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

An eternity passes. Kenma turns the lantern back on. “We’re fine,” he says. “C’mon.”

His pace is much faster now, and Shouyou’s tortured body has a hard time keeping up. Kenma never lets himself more than two steps ahead, though. He’s tense. He’s probably frustrated that Shouyou is so slow.

Shouyou follows Kenma out of the trees and onto a small patch of clear ground above the river.  He sets the lantern down. “We’re here,” he says. “Finish your Gatorade.”

Shouyou all but collapses. “Is it always like that?” His voice comes out a good octave and a half higher than he means to. It takes him three tries to get the cap of the Gatorade off.

“It’s night,” Kenma replies, as if that explains everything. He shrugs his backpack off and starts pulling supplies out, rocks and jars and candles, a wicked knife, a tacky turquoise necklace. He plops down cross-legged and starts picking the necklace apart.

Shouyou takes a long swig of his Gatorade, and everything goes white again. His back hits the dirt, knocking what little air he had out of him. Breathe in, please, breathe in. He rolls over, curling around his arm and quivering. Breathe in, breathe out. When he blinks back to awareness, he’s staring at the jar of salve, and he smells like lemon-lime. “Eugh,” he croaks, pushing himself upright. “As if my night couldn’t get any worse.”

Kenma lets out a kitten-sized snort. “Seriously?”

“What?” Shouyou whines, smearing salve on the new row of symbols. “It stinks.”

“You got yourself cursed, you’re bleeding all over yourself, you’ve almost peed yourself in fear twice—”

“I did _not!”_ Shouyou squawks.

Kenma snorts again, making his nose wrinkle. It’s the cutest thing Shouyou’s seen all night. Maybe it’s the pain. “You’re _literally_ dying,” Kenma continues, “and spilling Gatorade on yourself is where you draw the line?” He actually laughs, with a real smile and everything. “You’re unbelievable.”

Shouyou pouts, tossing the jar back to Kenma with more force than is strictly necessary. “You said you could help,” he says.

“I can.” Kenma catches the jar with ease. “Break my stuff and I won’t, though.”

Shouyou huffs, still frowning. “Don’t make fun of me and I won’t break your stuff,” he says.

“You’re amusing,” Kenma says, still smiling, “and you have no sense of scale. Want another Gatorade?”

“No.” Hell will freeze over before he drinks another one of those. Kenma shrugs and slides it back into his backpack.

Breaking a curse is far less flashy than Shouyou imagined. First, Kenma turns off the lantern and has them sit in a circle of tea lights instead. Shouyou holds a few chunks of turquoise to ‘charge’ it while Kenma draws little circles on index cards. They look kind of like the drawing etched into the lantern. Then, Kenma anoints Shouyou and one of the cards with a mixture of peppermint lotion, citrus oil, and river water, and has Shouyou burn the card. The symbols on Shouyou’s arm don’t budge. The corners of Kenma’s mouth drop a degree. He tries again with another card, this time adding crumbled up ginseng tablets and one of Shouyou’s hairs to the card. Nothing happens. The corners of Kenma’s mouth drop another degree. He rubs Shouyou’s arm with this milky-white crystal while having him hold a peppermint candy under his tongue. They take a few of Shouyou’s hairs and use them to tie a turquoise bead to a rock and chuck it in the river. They bury a second rock outside the circle of candles. Shouyou holds a piece of black licorice under his tongue while Kenma does something with incense and a tea bag. Between each anointing and burning and burying, Kenma inspects Shouyou’s arm, waiting for the symbols to disappear. Each time, they remain, bloody and stubborn and aching. The corners of Kenma’s mouth continue to drop until he’s wearing something that could be considered a full-scale frown.

The frown deepens even more every time he has to stop and wait for Shouyou to be able to breathe again after a new row of symbols carves itself into Shouyou’s skin.

After the fourth time, Shouyou rolls onto his back and lets out a noise like an angry dog toy. “How long until we find something that helps?” He pounds his good fist into the dirt. He’s lost the use of his other arm completely; the symbols curl down to his wrist, and every time he moves it, the letters split open, painting his shirt and the ground red.

“I don’t know!” Kenma snaps. He’s rummaging through his backpack again, his face completely crumpled, as if this whole experience has left a bad taste in his mouth. “I’ll find something, I just—” He snarls. “I might have to go back to the car for more supplies, but I’ll think of something.”

Shouyou lets out a hollow laugh. “I’m going to die.”

A granola bar hits him in the chest. “You are not,” Kenma spits. “I just need to think of something.”

Shouyou lets his eyes fall closed and sighs. Even in complete darkness, he still sees red at the corners of his vision every time his heart beats. “You’re probably not even magic, and I’m going to die.”

The shuffling sounds stop. “What did you say?” Kenma asks. His voice is completely cold.

A chill runs through Shouyou, and he opens one eye to look at Kenma. Kenma’s puffed up, every muscle tense, and  glaring at Shouyou. “I mean…” Shouyou says, voice quivering, “I uh, appreciate you trying, but the most you’ve managed is to keep me from getting dehydrated.”

Kenma plunges his hand into the backpack and comes up with a Gatorade, which he shoves at Shouyou. “That’s more than you’ve done for yourself,” he spits. “Drink your Gatorade and let me _think.”_

Shouyou takes the Gatorade, still shaking. Anger pours off Kenma in waves, and Shouyou believes, for a moment, that maybe Kenma has some sort of actual power. “Sorry,” he whispers.

Kenma gives him a sharp nod, and retreats to the edge of the candle circle. He settles into a crouch, muttering. Shouyou catches “Should’ve just taken you to Tora,” and “asshole,” and “not allowed to fucking die.” The rage coats him like spines on a cactus. It’s hard to look at, so Shouyou scoots over to the other side of the circle, facing out over the river.

The riverbank is tall here, with enough space to let Shouyou dangle his legs over the water and not get his shoes wet, and stable enough that he can set the Gatorade down on the edge and neither of them will fall in. The sound of the water is soothing, kind of like Kenma’s painkilling salve, and almost blocks out Kenma’s frustrated muttering. Shouyou takes a bite of the granola bar. He owes Kenma a better apology. Even if none of the curse-breaking has worked yet, Kenma did still take some of the pain away. It’s made a huge difference in making Shouyou feel like this whole thing isn’t hopeless, especially since the pain makes him practically lose consciousness. Like it’s doing right now.

Shouyou drops his granola bar and pulls his hand into his chest, curling forward around it. His vision goes white and the river rises up to meet him.

* * *

 

Behind Kenma there’s a cry and a splash, and when he whirls around, Shouyou isn’t there anymore. “Shit!” Kenma rushes over to the bank, hoping Shouyou is just below the edge, but all he can see is murky water and murkier darkness. The river here is only a few feet deep, but the current is fast, and you can drown in a foot of water if you’re unlucky.

Kenma’s pretty sure the only spot of luck Shouyou’s had tonight is meeting him.

He picks up the lantern and turns it on, but he can’t see that much farther with it than without it. His phone flashlight isn’t much better. He jogs down the bank, holding both out in front of him, shining what little light he has over the water. “Shouyou!” he shouts. “Shouyou!!” There’s no reply. The night is suddenly very cold.

He keeps jogging. Every lump in the water makes his heart skip a beat. Is that Shouyou? No, it’s a rock. Shouyou? No, a log. Kenma can only run as fast as he can see, and it’s so dark he might miss Shouyou if he moves too fast. But he’s running slower than the current. He might not get there in time.

Kenma starts to sweat. Shouyou had better know how to swim. Beside him, three more deceptively human-shaped logs emerge out of the darkness and disappear again. “Shouyou!!” Already, his voice is getting scratchy and high. What’s he supposed to do if Shouyou dies? He’s never had someone die on him before. He doesn’t want to start now. “Shouyou!!” He’ll yell himself hoarse if he has to.

About a quarter of the way across the river, something moves. Kenma squints out over the current “Shouyou?!” The thing moves again, and Kenma just catches it in the light of his lantern. Orange. Kenma puts both hands to his mouth and yells, “Wave if it’s you!!” An arm rises out of the water. Kenma lets out a breath, or maybe a sob? “Don’t let go!!” he shouts. “I’ll be right there!!” Kenma shucks off his shoes and his jacket and leaves them with the lantern on the shore. He keeps his eyes fixed on what might be Shouyou and what might be some trickster spirit. It had better be Shouyou. Kenma takes a deep breath, and steps into the river.

The water is freezing, and he goes stiff immediately. The current pushes at his legs, threatening to tip him over. He wades in up to his knees, than his hips. Hang on, Shouyou, please. Kenma’s halfway there when the current lifts him out of the mud and shoves him downstream. He lets out a yelp and gets a mouthful of water. The inside of his head is a litany of swearing, but he didn’t do varsity swimming for three years just to be defeated by some dumb river. He gets pushed into a sandbar and uses it to propel himself back upstream, inch by measly inch. It’s the hardest race of his life.

Kenma’s hand brushes a log, and he grabs it, stopping to take a breath. On the other end, in the the darkness, there’s a splotch of orange. Thank the gods Shouyou’s hair is so damned orange. Kenma pulls himself up the log until he’s next to Shouyou and pokes him in the shoulder. “Can you hear me?” Shouyou nods. His teeth are chattering too hard to speak, his cursed arm cradled against his chest. “Okay,” Kenma says, shivering hard enough to make his voice shake too. “Can you swim?”

“N-not like th-th-this.” Shouyou shakes his head. “I c-can’t move.”

Kenma’s own stupidity hits him like a wave. Without a buoy or a rope or something, they could both drown on the swim back. He shivers. The cold is seeping into his core, but his legs and arms are on fire. The smart thing to do would be to wait until morning and hope some dog-walker sees them, but Shouyou’s curse will kill him long before then, provided hypothermia doesn’t get there first. Kenma swallows. “I’m going to tow you to shore,” he says. “I have to use your bad arm, so you can keep yourself afloat.”

Shouyou goes a little green, but he nods.

“It’s going to hurt like hell,” Kenma warns.

“Mhm.”

Kenma grabs Shouyou’s bad arm. “Just do your best to keep kicking,” he says. He takes a deep breath and pushes off. If Shouyou screams, he doesn’t hear it over the roar of the water. Immediately, the log disappears as they’re swept downstream. Kenma does his best to angle them towards the shore, but it’s hard to tell in the dark. Swimming with the current does make his job a lot easier though. They’re drifting far farther downriver than Kenma would like, but each pull of his arm takes them further to the left.

Kenma’s hand strikes mud, and he sets his foot down and pulls them both upright. Shouyou clings to Kenma, his breath coming in gasps that might be sobs, and Kenma can’t bring himself to shrug him off. They slog to shore and collapse on cold, dry dirt. Kenma’s arms and legs feel like limp noodles and his lungs burn like he’s just swam a whole meet in one sitting. “Shouyou,” he says, between pants, “do not do that again.”

Shouyou gives Kenma a loose thumbs up. He’s definitely crying.

Kenma rolls over. “I’m not kidding,” he says, his voice hoarse. “You don’t get to die.”He reaches out and pokes Shouyou in the shoulder. “Answer me.” Shouyou pushes himself up to his knees, still sucking in air. He opens his mouth to speak, but only sobs come out. “Good enough,” Kenma says. He climbs to his feet, his legs threatening to let him fall all over again. “Come on,” he says. “I’m taking you to Tora.” He should’ve just done that from the beginning. If Tora can’t help, he can at least stave off the curse long enough for Kenma to get ahold of someone who can.  Shouyou stands up and immediately drops again. It takes a minute Kenma to realize he’s shaking from pain, not cold. As much as Kenma would really rather not touch Shouyou again, Kenma helps him up, holding him by the waist to make sure he stays that way.

It’s a long, long walk back to where Kenma left his backpack, by which point Shouyou’s lost the use of his fingers from the curse. He collapses in a heap when Kenma lets him, shuddering gently. The symbols on his arm have started to glow. Kenma takes pity on him and smears the salve on for him, only to find the skin is unnaturally hard and smooth. “It’s not helping,” Shouyou whines. “Why isn’t it _helping_?”

Kenma doesn’t have an answer. He’s cold and tired and he wants to curl up in a ball on the ground with Shouyou, but if he does, Shouyou will die. Kenma doesn’t have the luxury of a meltdown and he hates it. He throws his stuff back into his backpack and chugs a Gatorade as quickly as he can, trying to hold it off. He offers the last Gatorade to Shouyou. “Do you think you can drink it?”

“Not if you don’t want me to puke on you,” Shouyou croaks. He lets himself sink into the dirt a little further, like he’s going to sleep. “I don’t think I’m going to make it back to the car,” he admits.

Kenma rolls his eyes. He doesn’t have the energy left to deal with any of this, but Shouyou giving up least of all. “What did I just fucking say?” Shouyou whimpers in reply. “I will carry you to the stupid car if I have to. Come on, get up.”

It takes a great deal of effort and cajoling, but Kenma manages to arrange Shouyou on his back and the backpack on his front and the lantern hooked to his belt in such a way that he probably won’t drop any of them. Shouyou’s heavier than he looks, probably all muscle, and not doing much to help stay on. Kenma’s achy legs might not carry them both to the car, but fuck it, he has to try. Kenma wobbles into the trees. “Talk to me,” he says, as soon as he can’t hear the sound of the river anymore.

Shouyou lets out a thin, strained, “Why?”

“Because I want to know you’re still conscious.” Kenma jostles him a little, and regrets it when Shouyou hisses in pain. His bad arm is curled around Kenma’s neck, and Kenma’s trying not to think about how it feels more like metal than skin now. “Talk to me. You’re a student?”

“Mhm.” Shouyou “Freshman at UNM. Picked it because of in-state tuition.”

That’s older than Kenma expected. “Me too.” There’s a malevolent rustling in the trees. Kenma urges himself faster.

“Ooh?” Shouyou says, slurring his words. “What for?”

“Comp-sci.” Kenma’s only half listening at this point, trying to make sure they don’t run into something.

“Could’ve sworn you were older than me,” Shouyou murmurs.

“I am,” Kenma replies, readjusting Shouyou on his back. “I’m a sophomore. I picked UNM for in-state tuition.”

“Oh.” Shouyou’s head drops onto Kenma’s shoulder and and goes quiet. Kenma jostles him again. “Don’t do that,” Shouyou whines. “Hurts.”

“Don’t stop talking,” Kenma says, over the guilt in his stomach. “Sorry,” he adds.

“’S ok.” Shouyou whimpers and tenses up. His fingers fuse together and curl over. “Why is this happening to me?”

“Because you got cursed,” Kenma replies.

“But why?” Shouyou draws out the final vowel long enough to cover this entire shitty evening.

“I don’t know!” Kenma snaps, edging closer to the inevitable meltdown. “You seem fine. Why the hell does someone hate you this much?”

“I don’t think anyone hates me…” Shouyou says.

Kenma shakes his head. “You are _dying,”_ he spits. He doesn’t have the energy to explain why people are cruel and shitty. “Whoever cursed you _has_ to hate you.” There’s no other reasonable explanation for why someone would saddle Shouyou with a lethal curse.

“But I didn’t do _anything!”_ Shouyou screeches, and fuck, he’s bawling again.

Kenma’s heart sinks into the earth. “I know,” he whispers. “I’m going to fix it.” The words are hollow, but Kenma has nothing else for him. He adjusts Shouyou as gently as he can, and keeps walking. As much as he’d like to stop at the bridge and rest, they don’t have time. Plus, if he puts Shouyou down, he might not be able to pick him up again. Kenma’s reserve of willpower is deep, but not infinite.

Shouyou’s sobs fade down to hiccups and then to silence, and Kenma leaves him to it. He’s earned his right to wallow. Kenma won’t say no to silence either. They leave the first stretch of woods without any further incident. The air over the drainage ditch is empty, and the darkness absoluter. What Kenma wouldn’t give for some moonlight.

As they enter the second stretch of trees, Shouyou starts to play with his right arm, which is looking less like an arm and more like a pipe. “Man door hand hook car door,” he mutters, with a snort.

Great, now Shouyou’s brain is going. “What?” Kenma says, his voice flat.

“It’s this thing my hallmate sent me,” Shouyou says. “A horror story about a hook-handed man in the woods.” He laughs again, holding up his cursed arm. “And I’m a hook-handed man in the woods!”

Shouyou’s right, there’s a dull silver hook where his hand should be. The glyphs look like they’re painted on metal rather than carved into flesh. The hairs on Kenma’s neck stand up. “I’ve seen it,” he says.

“Aww, but the picture with this one was really cool. Let me show you!” Shouyou shifts, first almost falling off Kenma’s back and then almost digging the hook into Kenma’s neck, but he managed to fish his phone out of his pocket and waves it in front of Kenma’s face. “Good thing the case is waterproof,” he says. It takes him a couple tries to open the message. “See?” he says, as the picture comes up on the screen. “It’s cool, right?”

Something sears itself into Kenma’s shoulder, and he collapses in a heap, Shouyou on top of him. His vision whites out, and his ears start to ring. Who’s screaming? Oh, it’s him. Who’s shaking him? Shouyou. Shouyou needs to cut it out, it hurts. _Fuck,_ it hurts. He takes some deep breaths, blinking the world back into existence around him. Shouyou is babbling. Something about how he can’t die either? “Stop touching me,” Kenma says, his voice tight and tense. “I figured out your curse.”

Shouyou’s hand freezes, hovering above Kenma’s shoulder. “You did?”

Kenma peels back his collar and compares the glyphs on his shoulder and the ones on Shouyou’s arm. They’re crisp and legible now, and look kind of like HTML code? But they’re definitely the same. “It’s that message,” Kenma says.

Shouyou goes white. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t think it would curse you! I didn’t even see the message until after the curse showed up!”

“Probably hit you as soon as you got it.” Kenma sits up.

“Ugh, you’re probably right.” Shouyou groans. “That’s shitty. At least I know who sent it now? It’s my hallmate Keenan—”

Behind Shouyou, Kenma notices a dark, vaguely human shape. “Shouyou…”

“—and I don’t think Keenan hates me? He’s always seemed nice enough but I guess this says something about him—”

The shape raises an arm. The light from the lantern glints off its hand. “Shouyou shut up.”

“—and I’m really sad! I was planning on going out for basketball and I know he’s going out for basketball and how are we supposed to be teammates when he tried to kill—”

The hand is shaped like a hook. Kenma’s own warning echoes in his head. But it’s too late to not call attention to themselves. The man within an arm’s length of Shouyou. “Shouyou, run!” Kenma screams, swinging his backpack up to deflect the hook-handed man’s blow.

Shouyou picks himself up and limps down the path, but stops a few yards away, far too close, staring as Kenma throws the backpack on. “I don’t know the way!” he cries. His eyes are wide and he can barely keep himself upright, and the hook-handed man steps out of the shadows behind him.

Kenma makes the energy for a sprint and grabs Shouyou by his good hand, pulling him down the path with the last of his adrenaline. The hook whistles by their faces, just missing them. The darkness rings with sinister cackles.

Kenma’s heart is pounding in his ears. He can hear it skip every time Shouyou stumbles. The trees blur past them, and every few seconds Kenma gets the sense of something almost catching his shirt, his ankle, his hair.

They burst out of the trees, the car just in view, and the curse burns into Kenma’s shoulder again. He drops, and Shouyou drops with him. “No!” Kenma yells, adrenaline all that’s keeping him conscious. He throws Shouyou the keys as he loses awareness. “Go, go!”

Shouyou somehow finds it in him to drag Kenma to the car. When the pain recedes, they’re sitting behind locked doors, pitch dark night all around. Kenma leans back against the headrest and gulps down air. He feels far closer to drowning now than he did when he was in the river, and he doesn’t deserve any of this. “Are you okay?” he asks Shouyou.

Shouyou is sitting with his legs against his chest, curled around his cursed arm. “My arm keeps trying to unlock the door,” he says, his voice shaking. “I can feel it moving by itself.”

There’s the screech of metal on metal, and the car shakes, like someone’s keying the doors, but significantly larger. “He’s still out there,” Kenma says.

Shouyou shivers. “I don’t want to die.” His voice is the smallest it’s been all night.

“You’re not going to,” Kenma spits. “I did not make it through all of this just to get killed by some meme.” He nods at Shouyou. “And neither did you.” He just needs some sort of cleansing spell. None of the curse-breaking techniques he’d used so far had worked, but was it a matter of focus? Materials? Obviously, he needs to involve Shouyou’s phone. Cleanse that somehow. Something heavy rams the side of the car, shaking everything inside. Shouyou whimpers again, curling tighter around his bad arm. In the backseat, Something crumples Kenma’s bag of potato chips.

Potato chips! Perfect! Fight memes with memes! It’s stupid, but so is invoking _a fucking creepypasta_ for a curse. “Shouyou, give me your phone.”

Shouyou shakes his head. “I don’t want to move. It’s in my pocket, though.”

Kenma pulls Shouyou’s phone out of his pocket. “Passcode?”

“Ten-zero-five,” Shouyou says. “What are you going to do?”

“A factory reset.” Kenma crawls into the backseat and crushes the chips fine enough to make a circle of crumbs.

Shouyou shuffles around until he can watch Kenma work. “You can’t just delete the message?” he says. “I don’t want to erase my entire phone.”

“Nope,” Kenma places the phone in the middle of his chip circle. “This will break the curse, though.”

“My phone or my life?”

Kenma snorts. “Pretty much.”

The hook bangs into the passenger-side window and Shouyou flinches and screams. He glances back and forth between Kenma and the spiderweb of cracks. “Please hurry.”

Kenma searches the back seat for anything else he can use. He spots a can of Mountain Dew under the driver’s seat. Perfect, more memey bullshit. It’s completely flat, but it’s good enough for anointing Shouyou and Kenma and the phone. The hook-handed man bangs the window again, and the cracks spread. Kenma skips through menus, clicking yes, yes, delete all data, reset to factory settings. Another thump, and the window cracks again. The reset screen appears, and Kenma stares it down, willing this reset to take away the curse, to erase all harm that has been done. He watches the percentage climb as the passenger-side window gets hit over and over. It’s not that strong. Something has to give, and soon. 65%, 70%, 82%. The hook-handed man hits the window about every ten seconds. Kenma’s expecting them now, expecting the window to break. They can’t hold out forever, it’s just a matter of who gets to Shouyou first: the hook-handed man, or Kenma’s countercurse.

100%. The last hit to the window never comes.

Hinata slowly uncurls himself and holds up his right hand, flexing his newly-separated fingers. The skin of his palm is smooth and pink. When he shoves up his sleeve, the arm is unblemished. “Uwaaaaa,” Shouyou’s voice is soft and his eyes are wide, but the corners of his mouth curve ever so slightly upward. Kenma peels back his own collar, and finds that the skin of his own shoulder is also clear and unbroken. “Kenma, you did it!” Shouyou cheers. He shoves his way into the backseat and oh gods, they’re hugging now. “Thank you so much!” the words fall from Shouyou’s lips faster than water over rocks “I’m so sorry I ever implied that you weren’t really magic! You’re clearly super powerful. That was so cool! I thought I was going to die and he was really going to break the window and kill me but we didn’t! Because you did it! Thank you, thank you—”

“You’re welcome,” Kenma says, his words muffled by Shouyou’s disgusting shirt. “Please let go of me.” Shouyou keeps babbling, oblivious, and Kenma worms his way out of Shouyou’s arms. “Go sit down,” Kenma says. “I’ll drive you home.

Shouyou obediently climbs back into the front seat and fastens his seatbelt. Outside, the sky begins its slow journey from black to blue, lending just enough light for them to see that the parking lot is empty except for them. “Actually…” Shouyou says. “I was thinking of maybe going for breakfast? My treat? Now that I don’t feel like puking, I’m actually pretty hungry.”

Kenma looks Shouyou over from head to toe, and narrows his eyes. “No.” he says.

Shouyou’s face falls. “But—”

“You’re still shaking,” Kenma continues. “I don’t know if it’s adrenaline or cold, but I’m still freezing and you were in the river longer than I was. Plus, I’m covered in mud and blood. You’re covered in mud, blood, and Gatorade—”

“Hey!” Shouyou yelps.

“—there’s no breakfast place in town that would serve us.” Kenma starts the car and turns the heat on full blast. “No. We’re both going home, showering, and sleeping for several hours. I also get to explain to Tora what the fuck happened to his car.”

Shouyou blanches. “This isn’t your car?”

Kenma frowns. “Would that make the damage less bad?”

“No, but…”  Shouyou stammers, “you at least understand what happened?”

Kenma turns around and pulls out of the parking lot. “Tora is also a witch.”

“Oh thank god.”

“He’s still going to be pissed.”

Shouyou gulps.

“Anyway,” Kenma continues. “There is no food in town you could offer me that I want more than a shower and sleep.“

“Oh.” Shouyou turns away and looks out the window. “Okay.”

Kenma pulls up to a stoplight, reaches into the backseat, and grabs Shouyou’s phone. He skips through the setup, and pulls up the phone book. “I’m going to sleep until at least four,” he says. “You should too.” He hands Shouyou the phone. “But after that, we can try and do something that doesn’t involve almost dying.”

Shouyou looks from his phone screen to Kenma and back again. “Is this your phone number?” his grin splits his face.

“Yes,” Kenma says.

“So I can call you?”

The corner of Kenma’s mouth quirks. “Texting is better.”

Shouyou lets out a noise like an overzealous teakettle and taps something out like lightning. In Kenma’s pocket, his phone buzzes. “Now you have my number!” Shouyou chirps, hiding a yawn in his hand. “And we can go get pancakes or something after we sleep!”

“I like French toast better,” Kenma says. “Also, aren’t you broke?” He gets no reply. When he looks at the passenger seat, Shouyou is already snoring.

**Author's Note:**

> So this ended up being more of a "Happy Valentines" than an "Merry Christmas," but better late then never, I hope? I'm deeply sorry this took so long, but I want to thank you for being patient with me. I hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> Special thanks to [Cash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carriecmoney) and [Beq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carriecmoney) for all your help! I'm dead without you two.
> 
> Also, an announcement: I've had a fairly significant url change! I'm now amairylle everywhere. Literally everywhere. I've also remade my tumblr, so if you've followed me in the past and wish to continue doing so, you'll need to follow me again because I have a new blog now. Thank you all for your continuing support!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/amairylle) | [Tumblr](https://amairylle.tumblr.com/)


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